


hungry, but i'll hunger on

by incode



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Image, Body Worship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rimming, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sensuality, Slow-ish burn, definitely slow sex, episode 8 amirite, foot stuff, for his own good, victor is just... a tease, yuuri is trying to be bossier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incode/pseuds/incode
Summary: Yuuri has been learning to reach out for what he wants.  (Yuuri is not used to having power, being strong. He’s used to feeling weak. He is used to being told what to do and doing it, and Victor has unlocked something vital and feral inside him; he’s made Yuuri into something new, or maybe Yuuri has created it himself with his inspiration. In any case, he’s not interested in unraveling now into the sweet, pliant thing Victor is used to, the shy doll, whimpering and soft, from their previous times together. Suddenly, Yuuri doesn’t want to be coached, doesn’t want to be patronized. He lets his body make a decision, for perhaps the first time in his life.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy thanksgiving!! are you Thankful yet
> 
> This is really flirting with being rated E, but I stuck with M because I'm much more focused on the romance rather than the sex  
> But there _is_ detailed sex here. 
> 
> warning for a lightly touched-upon (like, brushed-at-most-upon) eating disorder mention (which will be explored in greater depth in later fics) and that's pretty much it... this should be a fairly safe story, I think, I hope
> 
> There's a little bit of technical skating terminology but I edited myself  
> There's also an absolutely excessive amount of lovey-dovey stuff and awestruck love but at the same time I won't apologize because... move, I'm gay
> 
> The title is Sleater-Kinney's, much like everything else in my life
> 
> Thank you for reading this!!

_...the hours I waste while I fake a grace_  
_that no-one will ever see_  
_And I practice tests, and a usefulness_  
_that I no longer need_

 

*

 

It’s an on night.

Yuuri’s riding a high from his previous win, and his longer step sequence for the free skate is coming together nicely. Confidently, he clasps his hands behind his back as he glides. There’s no one here but he and Victor, who’s been observing silently as he practices, and Yuuri knows they’ve been here for hours but he doesn’t want to stop when he’s hit a stride this good. His calves are burning, his core is tight and his breathing ragged - he’s not used to working this hard for this long but there’s a certain ecstasy in the exertion. And the best part: he feels Victor’s eyes on him, trailing him across the ice, like maybe he is something graceful, something beautiful.

Yuuri isn’t used to being admired. Not from so close up.

It’s amazing, the effect a cool room can have. He and Victor are people who have acclimated through exposure to the cold, who feel overheated on a mild spring day, who sleep with little clothing and less blankets. A skater’s internal climate control does its best work in a chilled rink - sweat, and the ice absorbs it. But Yuuri’s body feels hot, pushed to every limit he’s never found before, and he looks at Victor and sees Victor looking at him and suddenly the room feels stiflingly warm.

He does a couple of toe loops, wings some school figures as a cool-down. As a kid, skating the same figure eight over and over until the ice had a permanent indent, he’d think about how it must have been before jumps weren’t part of competition, about never being able to fly. Leaping from the ice is undeniably exciting for a child, and it’s part of what had drawn Yuuri to the sport. The repetition, the math, you learn to appreciate; what makes you fall in love is the exhilaration of landing a jump consistently, pulling off the combination you’ve been vying for.

Yuuri is starting to figure out the math of Victor Nikiforov, and strangely, it outdoes all the exhilaration of his outward persona.

After all, the more time they spend together, the more Yuuri simply _wants_ to fall in love with him; the sweet, soft parts of Victor that he doesn’t show in the performance - for his whole public life has been a performance - are intoxicating, poison dripping slow into his veins until he’s hooked. Victor’s private smiles, the praise he pays when it’s not strictly necessary, the way he cuddles with the dog, the way he falls asleep after any meal that takes place after dark. Yuuri dips into a sit spin, legs straining with the effort. Finally he lets himself collapse, and he laughs when Victor starts applauding.

Victor pushes off from the boards to slide over to him on his shoes; he nearly falls, and Yuuri laughs again, breathlessly, lying back on the ice. There’s a bit of snow from one of his stops beneath him, chilling the back of his neck. He presses back into it, hoping it will fade the flush from his face as Victor gets close.

It doesn’t. Victor somehow manages to stand over him, a foot planted on either side of Yuuri’s hips. Yuuri feels his blush burn him from his cheeks to his chest; he focuses on the cold seeping through his warm-ups.

Victor places his hands on his hips. “You’ll catch cold.” He looks down at him sternly; he’d tap his foot if he trusted his footing. Yuuri smiles at the thought. “Then what would I do? What would I do without my star skater?”

Yuuri giggles while Victor bends to take his glasses from him, and he reaches up to rub his eyes. His vision’s never been very good, and he usually would switch to contacts to skate, but tonight he had been itching to get out on the ice. Victor polishes the lenses with his scarf, and then he reaches out to Yuuri with an open palm, an invitation.

“If I use you to get up, you’ll fall, and then we’ll both be wet and cold,” Yuuri says, eyeing him suspiciously.

Victor hums his agreement. “I suppose you’re right, little star.” He steps back - Yuuri doesn’t miss him momentarily questioning his balance - to allow Yuuri room, and Yuuri goes up to his knees, up to his feet. He grabs Victor’s hands and turns his right foot out to lean on the outside of his skate and carry him backward toward the bleachers. Victor’s laughter is infectious, and as Yuuri deposits him behind the boards and grips them to unlace his boots, he finds that has to hold on a lot tighter than normal.

He studies Victor. He’s glad he at least has things to hold onto.

 

*

 

Yuuri sneaks out the next morning for a run and ends up going back to Ice Castle instead.

This morning, without Victor there, without the performance, he tries to push himself as Victor might - tries to congratulate himself for his successes and critique his faults realistically. The flourish is a little too much, his posture could be better; he’s losing his head. Rostelecom had felt like the end, but really it had been the beginning. Everyone will be at their peak performance at the Final, having trained just as hard as Yuuri has. Letting the momentum alone of such a stellar performance take them straight into the Final would be a fatal mistake, and they both know it.

The thought brings Yuuri down. He skates around for a while without purpose, without attempting any tricks; it feels good to ground himself, to go back to the certainty, the mastery, he has over these figures. Back and forth across the ice, and it’s quiet, the hum of the generator and lights, so he’s shocked enough to jolt when Victor’s voice reverberates around the empty rink.

“You’re a bit aimless,” Victor says, and he’s on his skates this time, a few steps behind Yuuri. He’s so light on his feet, his blades probably so lightweight, precision-engineered, that he hadn’t made a sound as he’d gotten close. Yuuri swallows, turns to face him. Momentarily he feels as if he’s being called out for not challenging himself, but he sees on Victor’s face that he gets it, that he understands. Victor comes to a stop a scant few inches away; his stop is not exact, but skidding, and that’s how Yuuri knows he’s tired. He must have woken up without Yuuri and gone out to find him. The thought makes Yuuri shiver in his warm-ups.

Victor’s smile is sleepy, too. He puts a hand over Yuuri’s abdomen, not touching, just hovering. “Focus, Yuuri. But it has to be natural. You have to find what it is that draws all of your pieces together - ” and here he pulls his hand upward, and Yuuri feels his breath being drawn slowly into his lungs from his diaphragm to follow it - “and let it bundle you up, keep it tight and efficient. You have a dancer’s heart, I can tell. You have to learn to refine the grace that’s already in you; hone your own strengths instead of thinking of others’.”

Victor grins. “When you’re out in front of the judges, you’re the only one who matters anyway. Use it.” He’s wearing a sweater Yuuri favors, deep red v-neck hanging slightly boxy on his lean frame, just a little bit oversized. He knows it’s soft, warm; after the first time they touched each other Yuuri wore it for hours, lazing around the ryokan, and it smelled like Victor and like victory.

He looks up at Victor. Blinks. What draws all his pieces together, binds them tight?

 

 

*

 

The next time the inn is left in Yuuri’s sole care for a day, it’s full up, but that doesn’t stop Victor from tormenting him.

He drags him to the baths in the late morning when he finally wakes, knowing full well Yuuri can’t spare the time to get in, and kisses his knee as he sits on the ground near him, reading. His kisses trail up his thigh and Yuuri manages through some sudden and divine willpower _not_ to sink his hand into his thick hair. Victor plays dirty and Yuuri will not rise to the occasion, not when he has family responsibilities to tend to.

“I have to go back to the front desk,” he says, and Victor whines as he gets up.

“I have to stay right here,” Victor says, and Yuuri rolls his eyes, paying him one last backward glance.

“You’re so indulgent, you know that?”

At this, Victor smiles darkly, tracing patterns in the water beside him. “It’s just a shame I won’t have such a nice view to indulge in. I’ll have to imagine you.”

Yuuri scoffs.

 

*

 

It is, as predicted, a very long day until his parents return home. By the time he’s relieved, his body’s exhausted, so there’s no time to work out, to burn off any of the nervous energy that’s been building in him as he’s been cooped up. Victor’s been fucking around, playing with the dog and eating all the rolls he can help himself to, all in his green silk robe. Yuuri is on edge and _furious_ , wants to _punish_ him. He’s on Victor in an instant when he finds him in his room, the bed unmade; Victor is a spoilt child and Yuuri’s fingers itch to clean up after him. He shoves Victor’s stupid robe down and savors the gasp Victor gives as he bites into his shoulder.

“I can’t… believe -” Victor pants, lying back as Yuuri nibbles down his neck - “nobody bothered to work on your confidence with you before.”

Yuuri raises his head, gives him a suspicious look. “What do you mean?” he says through the familiar inky black quickly spilling in to warn him that this is not a conversation he really wants to have.

Victor follows him as he sits up, his long legs splayed around Yuuri’s body, and Yuuri feels trapped though he tries not to. “I mean - I can’t believe I’m the first to see this side of you. You told me nobody cared to see what was underneath your shyness.” He traces Yuuri’s jaw with two fingertips, and Yuuri relaxes minutely. He can feel the tension leaving him as Victor touches him, just like it always does; in becoming less inhibited, he’s become predictable.

“You have such power, Yuuri,” Victor says, sort of wistful. “As you learn how to use it, I find myself more and more attracted to it.”

Yuuri turns into his hand, kisses his palm. Then he laces their fingers together. “I hardly feel powerful,” he admits.

Victor laughs, not cruel. He guides Yuuri’s hand down to his groin, holds it there so Yuuri can feel him get hard through his shorts as he grinds against the heel of his hand. “You feel that?” he says quietly, shifting his hips for more friction. “That’s the power you have over me. If you’d only let me sh - _show_ you,” he gasps when Yuuri presses down a little harder on his own, and Yuuri grins. He can feel it now, running through his veins, heavy and sticky, and as alien as it is to pay no mind to his reservations, he follows his body, and finds it easier than he’d anticipated to go back to the frenzied version of himself as he dives back into Victor’s neck. He grabs his hair and forces his head back, catalogues Victor’s particular groan. He lets up after a moment, studies the way Victor’s flushed from the tops of his cheekbones to his chest, searches his eyes.

And there’s a flash of something shared between them - a moment where they both realize what needs to happen, that right now there’s nothing more right. Victor drops to his knees in a mimicry of the position he’d taken to help him with his skates after the short program at Rostelecom, kisses his bare foot as Yuuri tries desperately not to giggle. He feels the same spark of surprise he’d felt at the competition - there’s less adrenaline, but the excitement still peaks, and though it tickles at first, his breath still comes fast and shallow as Victor kisses over his toes, the ball of his foot. It feels good, Yuuri realizes, not just mentally, to be worshipped like this, but _physically_ ; his feet ache acutely from the training he’s done this season. When he thinks about it, his whole _body_ hurts, having been whipped into shape so quickly; Yuuri’s not used to being doted on, but he decides maybe it isn’t so bad.

He gasps as Victor licks slowly into his arch, shudders out a shaky exhale. Yuuri’s never even _considered_ this - but Victor’s thumbs follow his tongue, pressing hard into the tight muscle, and he groans as he lets his head tip back. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed. He gives up on sitting up, leans back on his elbows in a half-upright position so he can continue to watch Victor. He’s not thinking, so he says, “You look beautiful there,” without editing himself, and immediately feels his face heat.

But Victor just smiles. He digs his right thumb in harder, at the very center of Yuuri’s foot, pressing upward into the ball of his foot to work out a knot Yuuri didn’t even know could exist. “You like me on my knees?” he asks, voice low, and Yuuri manages a shocked nod; he’s just proud of himself for resisting his instinct to look away.

Victor places the foot he’d been working on on his own shoulder, and it opens Yuuri’s body up a bit more; Victor looks up the line of Yuuri’s leg and darts his tongue out between his lips, but he just nudges Yuuri’s calf, kisses it through his jeans, and picks up his other foot. Yuuri gasps; Victor wastes no time, his fingers deft on Yuuri’s foot, loosening the tension there, flexing and extending the muscles, and it would hurt like hell if it didn’t feel so excruciatingly good. Yuuri lets his head fall to his own shoulder, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted; Victor’s gaze is locked to him, as if there’s a string of pure electric energy between them and neither of them can break it. Through the buzzing in his head, Yuuri realizes how quiet the room is; he can hear Victor’s breath and the way the fabric still covering him slides against his skin when he shifts. He wants his skin on his immediately, and he whines, reaching with one hand for his own zip. Victor lets him, but his hot breath is back against Yuuri’s foot; as Yuuri unbuttons his jeans Victor takes his big toe into his mouth and before this moment there was absolutely nothing erotic about that idea to Yuuri but for now he can think of nothing else, no other possibility, as Victor stares him down and applies suction to the flesh.

Yuuri’s brain short-circuits; the moan he lets out is louder than he should be at home, or anywhere, really, louder than he’d ever let himself be for any reason, so used to being closed-up and meek and mumbling. He’s not used to being vocal about his desires, his wants; but his want is so huge and overpowering now that he couldn’t hold it in if he tried - and he doesn’t even want to try.

One of Victor’s hands is skating up Yuuri’s calf, and the sensation of rough denim and the heat of Victor’s hand pressing against his skin is almost too much. Yuuri worries that he’ll explode just like this if they don’t move along, and so he goes back to fumbling with his fly. He’d feel incompetent if he were any less turned on; the zipper keeps slipping through his fingers, and Victor tries to come to his rescue, snickering a little as he reaches up to unzip him.

But Yuuri is not used to having power, being strong. He’s used to feeling weak. He is used to being told what to do and doing it, and Victor has unlocked something vital and feral inside him, getting down on his knees like this; he’s made Yuuri into something new, or maybe Yuuri has created it himself with his inspiration. In any case, he’s not interested in unraveling now into the sweet, pliant thing Victor is used to, the shy doll, whimpering and soft, from their previous times together. Suddenly, Yuuri doesn’t want to be coached, doesn’t want to be patronized. He lets his body make a decision, for perhaps the first time in his life. He swats Victor’s hand away.

Victor looks up at him, stunned, and as the moment passes Yuuri sees him accept and defer to him; and more important than that, just before that, he sees _recognition_ , acknowledgement that, yes, Yuuri can do this, Yuuri is capable and independent. Victor bows his head, and Yuuri puts a hand in the hair at the crown, laces his fingers through it and tugs just slightly as he feels it slip through his fingers. Victor mewls and Yuuri stores that away, too; he wants a reference sample of every single sound Victor makes for him, a library of noises he can test out the reliability of through repetition. If Victor will let him, all Yuuri wants to do is make him sing for him.

He manages to shove his jeans and briefs down with one hand tucked into the waistbands and some clever leverage, lifting his hips off the bed, and when Victor next looks up at him his face is flushed again and his eyes are clouded over with lust.

Yuuri puts two fingers on Victor’s bottom lip, pushes them into his mouth. Desire has never caused this much of a storm inside him, never been this violent; his want for Victor consumes him and transforms him. It has created a feeling totally new for itself, wedged itself in stubbornly between his heart and lungs where it can’t be moved or he will fall apart. He studies Victor’s face, slack, letting Yuuri experiment and play. He looks beautiful, pale skin against the bright blue of his eyes and rosy red of his lips. Yuuri wants to kiss him, so he does, hunching over at a horrible angle and taking his lips, hands once again under his bathrobe, this time roaming across his back and chest. He manages to coax Victor back up onto the bed and the robe finally falls away on its own; Yuuri gets Victor positioned on top of him and wastes no time getting his boxers down.

“These don’t do you any justice,” he tells him playfully as he lightly trails his fingers along Victor’s dick, his want talking for him once again.

Victor growls, eyes shut tight, probably trying to maintain his control. “I’ll never put them on again, if that’s what you want.”

Yuuri considers it. “Mm,” he says, and reaches around to pinch Victor’s ass. Victor gasps. “That’s payback, for the one you gave me after practice the other night.” He recalls blushing, not being able to tell Yuko and Takeshi why, as Victor had floated, snickering, off into the locker room. Victor laughs, then, gives a little shimmy of his hips.

“What would you like?” he asks Yuuri, and Yuuri gives himself a moment to think about it honestly. _What would I like,_ he thinks, hands on Victor’s hips. Victor’s just looking at him, face open and complacent, not expecting a single thing. He is so grateful for him, and so _hot_ for him; Victor’s hand goes under his t-shirt and Yuuri shivers violently at the touch, and suddenly he knows exactly what he wants.

He would like his senses overtaken. He would like to _not have to think_ for a few more precious minutes; he would like this to last forever, in truth, but if it can’t, he would like Victor to do him a favor and make him not remember his own name. 

“Fuck me,” he says, and, surprisingly, that doesn’t elicit a noise. Victor’s body reacts, though; Yuuri catches the jump of his cock out of the corner of his eye, and he sinks his hands more firmly onto Victor’s hips, feeling the strength in them as he juts forward involuntarily. Victor stares at Yuuri wide-eyed for a moment before his lids go heavy.

“Oh, Yuuri,” he says, his voice soft like butter, and he leans down to cover Yuuri’s body more fully with his own. He kisses him, soundly, fully, a whole-body kiss; his hips are rocking against him, slotting them together, and Yuuri gasps into his mouth when he realizes how perfectly they fit, every curve on his body fitting against the gaps Victor’s has. He’s used to feeling self-conscious, but this is different; this is an _awareness_ of his body that Yuuri has never been treated to before.

Victor backs off after a moment. “Get undressed,” he tells him, a little harsh, and Yuuri nips at his bottom lip as he gets up in admonishment for the command, trying to keep in character. Victor laughs and kneels on the bed watching him, and Yuuri finds it strangely easy to shed his clothes; there’s joy in it, something he’s been inching closer and closer to in the time he’s spent with Victor, exhilaration in the sense that what he presents Victor with is simply him. Victor is always so thrilled by it, after all, and this time seems no exception; he reaches out to Yuuri as he returns to the bed, holding him, and Yuuri lets him kiss his neck as he leans back and gets into his pants pocket.

“We’ve never -” Victor trails off when he sees what Yuuri is holding, and he flushes furiously - Yuuri enjoys it, loves playing this game with Victor where they constantly try to surprise each other more and more - and he finds that he rather loves winning it, too.

“I knew it would happen sooner or later,” Yuuri shrugs, affecting nonchalance. Victor growls at him again, plucks the condom from his hands and tosses it beside him, and even though Yuuri knows such a gesture is just an act he can’t help but be swept up in Victor’s eagerness as he kisses him again, eventually dropping to nibble along his collarbone and at the spot behind his ear he’d earlier discovered makes Yuuri yelp and beg.

 _I want you,_ Victor is whispering into his skin, _I want you, Yuuri, I want you,_ and Yuuri doesn’t know if he hears it or is just feeling the way the words trace from Victor’s lips onto his body as he lets Victor push and pull and arrange him where he wants him, which turns out to be on his front, a pillow beneath his hips. He pulls another pillow to crush up into a ball between his arms and fights down the vulnerability of this position as he gets comfortable. Victor’s breath is on the small of his back, and then his hands are between his shoulder blades, pushing with his thumbs into the muscle there, and Yuuri groans and shifts unconsciously to open up further, wanting Victor to be able to sink in with his fingers and meld with him so he never has to let him go.

Victor’s sitting on his thighs, pinning him down, but he feels weightless; Yuuri craves the heat of him covering him completely, so he wiggles his hips. His cock presses up against the soft pillow beneath him and Yuuri feels the strategy in putting it there; it elongates his body, lifts his ass and drops his thighs at their hinge to his tailbone, arches his back just slightly so there’s a bit of a stretch in his core. It feels fantastic, and heightens his excitement as Victor takes his time working his way down with his massage. Victor’s self-control astounds him; Yuuri knows he’s a bit older, but he truly can’t imagine himself ever being able to be so patient. All he’s experienced up to now has been defeat or desire, both all-consuming; one is paralyzing and one drives him to act without regard to consequence. He knows he’s hasty, knows he lacks restraint, and he experiences his share of regret for it. All the years of binging, purging more and more as the stress of the season weighed down on him - habits Victor doesn’t know about yet, but will, because it’s inevitable - have left him more familiar with self-loathing than he had ever been before he’d realized it was an option.

Before long his body is open and he’s floating mentally, so much so that he can barely bring himself to gasp as Victor’s fingers trail along the cleft of his ass on one side. It’s the ghost of a touch, but there’s so much promise in it. Yuuri tries to remember his promise to himself, to not become quiet and submissive, but it’s so _easy_ under Victor’s touch. Why would he need to demand what Victor is intent on giving him willingly?

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes, and Victor chuckles, soft, and leans down to nuzzle against his skin; Yuuri makes a little keening noise and Victor pushes him apart gently, licks a stripe against him;Yuuri hadn’t even realized how much he’d spread his legs in relaxation, or maybe anticipation for Victor’s attention, and he lets out a long, low moan. It’s not as if he’s never had this kind of sex before, but it’s never been _like this_ ; it’s never been unhurried, sweet, lacking expectations. It’s never been with _Victor_ , never been with this idol who’s become more and more human as Yuuri touches him, convinces himself that he’s real. And the truth is, he could never surprise Victor more than Victor is surprising him right now, so attentive and focused on Yuuri and on what he needs and wants.

Victor’s tongue is warm and slick against his most sensitive place and Yuuri fights the urge to press back into him, wanting to take his time and just let this happen. He’d feel strung out in any other circumstance but there’s a weird mood hovering over them; the room is still so quiet, he can hear Victor’s breath as much as he feels it. They have all the time in the world, they have all the time they need. Victor is kneading his ass even as he eats him out and it’s like a funny continuation of the massage he’d been giving earlier, a perversion and yet a natural progression.

There’s the _snick_ of a bottle being shut and the lube Victor coats him with is still too cold, and Yuuri jerks, then sighs as Victor sinks a finger into him. “Aah… _ah,”_ he says, sort of a vocalization of all the pure sensation in Victor pressing down against his prostate. Yuuri squeezes the pillow tight in his arms and presses his face into it. He hopes he’ll do that again.

“Talk to me, Yuuri,” Victor says, and his voice is so reassuring that Yuuri is instantly convinced. He remembers his character, the not-quite-falsehood of a Yuuri so confident and realized in his identity and needs that he never shuts up about them.

“I… _fuck,_ keep going,” Yuuri pants, and he moves his hips again, just side-to-side a little, which shifts the angle of Victor’s fingers and forces them up against that bud inside him again. He moans, broken, and Victor gasps; there seem to be phases to Victor’s arousal, flipping back and forth between astonishment and playfulness and back to astonishment again. Yuuri files this away for later; he determines to one day take Victor apart so he’s completely speechless and skips his teasing.

For now, he’s content to rock back on Victor’s fingers and let Victor admire the way his body _wants._ “I need… _God,_ Victor, I need…”

“I know, baby.” Victor’s kissing his inner thighs - when did he get so close? “I know. Let me take care of you.” Yuuri shivers at the vibrations of his voice traveling through the sensitive skin. He loves Victor’s voice, the way it shifts to a little growl on his soft consonants, the husky tone it takes on with even the slightest provocation. Maybe it’s fetishistic to love his accent, but he really does.

Victor pulls back, but he puts another finger inside Yuuri alongside the first and Yuuri breathes out very hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “Is that okay?” Victor says, no doubt noticing his discomfort. Yuuri focuses on his breathing for a moment; Victor doesn’t move.

“Just… slower, okay?” Yuuri buries his nose in his pillow, muffling himself. Victor brushes his hair back from his cheek, coaxes Yuuri out to nuzzle their noses together and kiss him; when he pulls away, Yuuri is breathless, and Victor smiles at him.

“Okay,” he says, like he’s actually pleased to grant his request. Yuuri looks back at him, dumbstruck; ask and get what he needs. He can’t believe he’s never realized how easy it is before!

Victor puts his fingers back in, slow, nudging one up into his prostate to keep him where he wants him as he slides the second one in next to it. “Fuck, Yuuri, you look so good,” he tells him, and his sentence trails off into a groan as he moves one finger independently of the other, keeping one still firmly on Yuuri’s prostate, which blooms open under the attention, and using the other to work the muscle slowly open. Yuuri gasps, unable to catch his breath; he can’t _think_ with that constant pressure there, and Victor knows it. He wants this, wants so purely, burning bright in his core, that he can’t help but cry out, and the knowledge that his family will likely have heard is so distant as to not exist.

Victor seems to delight in taking him apart, and he works another finger in without much fuss, gets them all to the second knuckle and scissors Yuuri further and further open under him. Yuuri makes what he hopes is an enticing, grateful noise but is likely a demanding grunt, squirming for more contact. Victor places a hand on his thigh and nudges up against him and Yuuri falls apart, then, pushing his ass back so Victor will have no choice but to acknowledge what his body wants. Victor doesn’t disappoint; Victor makes an approving noise and edges his fingers in deeper.

 _More, more, more,_ Yuuri starts babbling, and he knows Victor can’t really give him more with his hands but he still mourns their loss when Victor pulls away to get himself prepared. Victor pushes his hips back down to the bed, and Yuuri lies there and tries to breathe through the anticipation making his lungs freeze.

Heat ignites in him anew as Victor lays down over him, his hips slotted to Yuuri’s, his hands fondly working through Yuuri’s hair to make a ponytail that won’t quite secure in his fist. He holds him like that for a moment, back arched, until Yuuri whines at the pressure on his scalp and Victor lets him back down. Victor ruts against him, rocking back and forth and side to side and letting Yuuri feel how hard he is, breathing hot on his neck in between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder. Yuuri is an eager participant in this, working his butt back into Victor, not holding back any of the sounds he wants to make.

“I want you,” Victor says matter-of-factly, “can I have you?” And Yuuri says _Yes,_ biting back what comes after, what naturally follows: _Yes, take all of me, have all of me._

Victor aligns himself expertly considering the position; Yuuri is happy he didn’t have to sacrifice a moment of their closeness to have this. Victor slips in without much trouble and Yuuri lets out the breath he didn’t need to hold; it doesn’t hurt, Victor wouldn’t hurt him, of _course_ Victor wouldn’t hurt him. He is so needy, so on edge, but even here, pinned beneath Victor, groaning and gasping what breaths he can in between his pleasure, he feels powerful, feels strong. He’s got what he wants; Victor is here with him, surrounding him and inside of him, and all he had to do was ask.

“Ohhh my god,” Yuuri groans as Victor bottoms out; he extends his arms, pounds his fist on the bed. This is so much better than it could have ever been without Victor; how could he have ever thought anyone else would do in his place? He whines and moans but Victor doesn’t move yet, driving him to huff impatiently.

“Fuck,” he hears Victor breathe. “Fuck, Yuuri, you’re so _hot.”_ He gives him a single, experimental thrust of his hips, and Yuuri feels the jolt of sensation up his spine, lightning-quick and white-hot. Immediately he wants more, and thankfully Victor doesn’t disappoint, working slowly into a steady rhythm that strokes at just the right angle. Yuuri mewls and reaches back to grasp onto whatever hair of Victor’s he can reach, not caring that it’s likely painful to yank him to him and kiss him. They’re so close - Victor pulling back just barely so he can thrust back inside, his loose hair on Yuuri’s shoulders when he lays down against him, his hands on Yuuri’s waist, on his arms, in his hair.

 _Have me… you can… have me._ Yuuri doesn’t even realize he’s not just thinking it until Victor stares him down and kisses him, and they pause to regard each other for a moment, pupils blown; Victor snuggles with his sweaty forehead against Yuuri’s cheek and says in his ear, “You’ve already got me,” and if there were anyplace to move to Yuuri would collapse.

Victor rolls them so that they’re side to side; he wraps Yuuri up and holds him tight, one hand at rest on his hip and the other arm cradled around him under his body as they lay spooned up on the bed. The position allows him a bit more range of movement with a lot less effort, and he can pull all the way out and drive back in with some absolute _force._ Yuuri presses his head back toward him and is rewarded with kisses to his hair and cheek, unfocused pecks that would be chaste if they weren’t rolling around naked in Victor’s bed.

Victor’s movements are getting erratic; Yuuri pines for him, and his hand comes around from its place steadying his hip to play with his cock, his hand still lube-slick from preparing Yuuri earlier. Yuuri fights against it, tries to push down the pleasure like he’s pushed down everything he’s ever wanted, wanting to draw this out forever and never let go. But he can’t, with this; he can’t deny it, can’t resist Victor cuddling him close, touching him everywhere. Yuuri comes with a wordless shout, all the unlikely tension that was left after Victor’s massage vacating his body in a burst of weightless, effortless light.

“I love you,” Victor gasps as he gives a few last-ditch, barely-pistoned thrusts, grinding against him even as Yuuri squirms in his arms. Yuuri tries to speak, to respond, but he feels as if even his vocal cords have gone slack. Victor seems to understand and isn’t offended, kissing and rubbing at his shoulder as he pulls out, mindful that Yuuri will want him close so he doesn’t take much time to discard the condom and wet a washcloth in the bathroom. Yuuri just lies there, eyes closed as the exhaustion washes over him in warm, comforting waves, familiar, somehow, like coming home.

The mattress shifts under him as Victor returns; he wraps an arm around Yuuri again and scoots closer, wrapping them up together, not bothering with a blanket. Yuuri hides his face in his hands and Victor lets him, thumb stroking soothingly along his belly.

He kisses Yuuri’s shoulder again; Yuuri shifts. He turns over in Victor’s arms, pushes his nose into Victor’s neck, breathes out heavily against him, a deep, shuddering breath. He wants to cry but he’s too tired to do so, so he nuzzles against Victor and breathes him in and out a few times instead. All he wants to do is float.

He didn’t forget his own name, but he’s not disappointed. In fact, he has the distinct impression that Victor specifically wanted him, throughout the entire ordeal, to remember it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you want, I'd love that ^.^
> 
> [tumblr](http://shakenhoney.tumblr.com/)  
> I love y'all


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